​No Sense of Shame

If you want to be a writermay you prepare for the fantasticDangerof pulling nouns and adjectivesout of your mouth.like pulled teeth left under a spotlightwith droplets of your blood& human truths.​

If you want to be a writer,may you prepare your bright tealHeartTo burst onto the pageLike the fantastic super moonLeaving astrologists to foretellof the push and pull of your dark nights.Calling out our guts &peeling back every piece of your skinAnd leaving any hope behindOf sex, money, and fame.

There is a fantastic dangerThat in spite of everythingyou might be lucky and you'll walkwith yourselfdown a pathwaywhere there is a room filled withother bright teal hearts.displayed on a shelf making spaceinside the rib cage forastronomical perspectivesOf passionate hourswith mediums of paintor words.

& you might meet a woman like mewith a crown on her headof the mountainsthat she has movedover the bones of herpast selves as she cocoonsin the bathtub, purifying her soul

while she soaks her bodywith no sense of shamein kettle hot water,basil, and sea salt.

There is a fantastic dangerto think she is enlightened;a beacon of lightin your ever dark lifeand trading in your wordsfor all that is her skin.

But she is still just a soulMaybe even a writer tooTaking a chanceto share blood and spaceWith the rest of us.

& it takes guts, friend.To be just a soulWith no shame of the vesselyou’re in.